


A Letter For The End

by J_33



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Sad, Stevetasha - Freeform, romanogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 14:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1269712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_33/pseuds/J_33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she wasn't out on a mission, she was always writing. Steve thought that it was a way for her to get back at him for not showing her his drawings, but somehow this was different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Letter For The End

**Author's Note:**

> ENJOY

When she wasn't out on a mission, she was always writing. Steve thought that it was a way for her to get back at him for not showing her his drawings, but somehow this was different.

She never said much about her past. The times he would be startled awake by the screaming figure besides him; those were the times he was reminded of all the terrible things she once endured. One night they both laid awake after a particular gruesome mission, and they talked. The two of them were never good with words because words lie, words trick, and deceive, but they were too tired to distract themselves at the moment, so they simply talked. Steve told her about the ice, all the years he spent lodged underneath a freezing mass of ice. Tony always made jokes about it; calling him 'capsicle,' but Natasha, Natasha just listened. For a women who was so much better with actions then with words, she was quite a good listener.

He knew that she wasn't as young as she looked. In her file it read that she too had a version of the serum, like him, but not as advanced, not as super. He wasn't sure how old she was at the moment. They never celebrated her birthday, though he wasn't sure she even knew when hers was. He didn't ask, and she didn't tell, it was as basic as that. Steve knew that she hated talking about her past. As much as she tried to hide the pained glint in her eye whenever someone brought something up, he could see it. But they were talking tonight, something they didn't do very often, and he wasn't sure if it were the pain meds she was currently taking for her bruised ribs, or the sleep talking, but they were talking; more than just small talk, it was real and it meant something.

He remembered distinctively, her telling him something that he probably would never forget, even if he tried. Steve had finished saying something about being regretful because of all the time he spent under the ice, all the things he missed out on.

It came out as no more than a pained whisper, but she said, "All these years, too many to count on my fingers, I've wished that maybe, just for a little while I could close my eyes, and escape. Escape my past, forget my future, and leave behind my present. There is so many gaps in my head, with no memories to fill in the blanks, so I used to think that it wouldn't be a terrible thing if I could just disappear for a little while, and freeze the time. No one would miss me, I wouldn't leave anything good behind, so why not? But I was always too busy running from something, fighting against someone, leaving a trail of blood behind, and now working to clear it all up. I was always awake, and no one can live without sleep."

I was always awake, and no one can live without sleep

Like lyrics to a song, those few words constantly rang in Steve's head. Whenever he began to feel a twinge of regret creep up his throat, those simple words played in his head, and he remembered that maybe things weren't so bad.

***

But like he said, things were different now. Natasha was gone, she was asleep forever and she wasn't waking up. The team was out numbered. Too many drones, and not enough fight left. Clint was running out of arrows, Tony's suit was low on fuel, Bruce, the Hulk, could only take so much, and Thor only had so much power available. He and Natasha were trying to get to the train station not too far away because they knew that if they lead the drones there, they couldn't hurt anymore people.

His head was pounding, his lungs were aching, and his bones were on fire, but Natasha was still standing besides him, so he needed to keep fighting. She moved as if nothing were wrong, but he could see the rapid, almost desperate rise and fall of her chest. He could see the way her eyes became less, and less focused the more they fought, and lastly he could see her usually bright red hair, begin to look more like blood, the paler her face got. He wished he could say that it was an accident, what happened next, but he would be lying.

A drone, one of the few that could fly, started shooting some type of laser beam at Steve, as he worked to fend off the oncoming attack of the never ending land drones. Natasha was reloading her gun, when she saw, out of the corner of her eye, the drone lock onto Steve's fighting form. Her body screamed for rest, her heart cried for a moment of peace, but she was Natasha, she was rash, anxious, and hard headed, but she was fast, and her worst was always someone's best, so some could say she knew this wouldn't end well.

Like lighting she aimed her spare pistol at the flying drone, and before one could blink their eye, she already fired two rounds at the thing, but it only served as a minor distraction from its initial target. Key word minor. She was fast, strong, witty, and brave all at her worse, but Natasha was no match for a machine, especially not an angry one.

Steve turned around just as the drone fired at Natasha, just as her lifeless body collapsed to the debris covered ground, just as his worst nightmare came to life. He ran to her side, ignoring the pain he once felt in his body, because the new pain he was feeling was so much worse. It was as if the drones knew that their job was done because once he kneeled by her body, the sound of gun fire and explosions subsided.

Natasha was breathing, but barely hanging on. The bullet plunged in her chest seemed to serve as a mini bomb exploding shrapnel it her body once it hit, and he could see the damage. Steve could see her struggling to say something, her breathing becoming raspier, as her lungs filled with blood. He ran his dirt stained hand through her once vibrant red hair trying to ease the pain, like explosions in her hazel eyes.

"No," Steve choked out, the realization hitting him. "Don't you dare leave me, everyone leaves me," he stated in a hoarse, painfully low voice; his hands now pressing firmly down on her now bloody wound.

She groaned out in pain as he applied pressure, but her eyes seemed to have an understanding in them. Like she knew this was the end, like it was going to be a bad, crappy ending to one of those stupid movies that everyone watches, knowing what's going to happen, but sits through the whole thing anyway.

Her whole body was in shock, leaving her feeling like she was drowning rather than floating.

"St-Steve, hold m-my hand," she whispered ignoring the taste of copper in her mouth.

When his eyes meant hers once again, the pain inside them hurt her more than the bullet right now. It wasn't the sadness, or anger in them, it was the hope that hurt the most. In the end it was hope that destroyed everyone, because right now there was none.

"I will not hold your hand, okay, help is coming. I can already hear the sirens, just hang on, a little longer," he said trying to convince himself, more than her right now.

"The-there are n-no sirens, St-Steve," she said sadly because even though she was on the verge of dying, she was more practical than he was, and she knew there were no ambulances coming to get her. There were too many alive victims to save, and she wasn't one of them.

Steve shut his eyes, as if trying to wake up from this bad, bad dream, but it wasn't a dream, it was reality. When he opened them the hope that once lingered in his blue eyes, vanished into regret.

She reached her shaky, bloodstained hand up to the side of his cheeks as he wrapped his larger, and firmer one around hers. "No regrets," she stated. It was becoming harder for her to focus on him, all her energy being used up trying to heal.

"I lov….," he started but was soon interrupted by her shushing him.

"Don't s-say it ca-cause I'm d-dying," she took another shaky breath. "Save it."

And there it was. Leave it to Natasha Romanoff to be stubborn as she bled out. Steve smiled one of those grins that he always made whenever she seized to amaze him, and squeezed her hand. He then leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, as he felt her squeeze his hand for the last time, allowing her eyes to shut forever, and her heart to stop.

Steve liked to assume that, that squeeze was an 'I love you too.'

***

Her funeral was short, being a private event and all, but well spent. Not many people came, only those that really knew her, those she trusted, but Steve knew that she would have wanted it that way. He was dressed in a black suit, the one that Natasha always had to help him with the tie. When it was time for him to make his speech he couldn't help but smile because Natasha would have been so pissed to know that he didn't write anything down.

Steve cleared his throat that seemed awfully dry at the moment, as the mic made a scratchy noise. His hands were sweating, and he was feeling a little bit dizzy as he walked up the podium steps, but he wasn't going to let stage fright stop him saying the things he wished he'd said in person. Somehow deep down he knew it wasn't just stage fright that was making him feel this way; it was grief.

"Natasha Romanoff was something else. Deadly, sneaky, stubborn, and beautiful all at once. She was a damn good agent, and I'm sure this is the way she would want to go down. Everyone standing here before me probably knew a different version of her, and I for one am lucky that I got to see the real her, even though it was only for a short amount of time. She was perfectly content not being remembered while still managing to be someone you could never forget, and I know that I'll never forget her."

Soon after the people began to clear out. Fury left, then Thor left, then Coulson, then Bruce, then Tony, and it was just him and Clint. They both just stood silently staring at the black coffin, waiting for her to pop out.

"She's really gone," Clint said in no more than a whisper.

Steve remained silent.

"I always thought I'd be the one to go first, but she just had to try and prove me wrong," said Clint with a twisted chuckle.

"She always hated being wrong," said Steve.

"Good thing she was always right then," said Clint. He paused and took one more look at the coffin that held the body of his best friend, before turning around, never looking back. Clint wanted to pound on the coffin and scream for her to wake up and cut the crap, but it would all be useless. All this time she had worked to pay her debt back to him, but he was the one who owed her his life, not the other way around.

Now it was just Steve, all by himself. "Good things were said about you today, though I know you would call them lies," he said waiting for a response that never came. "You always said that pain brings people together, but I think you were wrong. I think that you brought people together, you just didn't want all the credit."

Boy did she hate being wrong.

***

Every time he walked through SHIELD he was reminded of her, every time he was in his apartment he could smell her sweet scent. He woke up in a sweat waiting for her to comfort him with her soft, and soothing Russian words, as she rubbed circles on his back, but she was never there, she never would be again. Steve wanted nothing more than to trade places with her, to do anything that would lessen the growing weight on his chest, but Natasha would have hated him for thinking that.

He knew that no matter how hard he tried to drown his sorrows, he couldn't get drunk. Not even Thor's mead over power his fast metabolism, but that didn't mean it wasn't worth a shot. He tiredly looked through the cupboards, for the vodka that Natasha always drank after a bad mission. He found it on the top shelf, hidden away in a leather box. Steve gently placed it on the granite counter, and opened it like it could disappear before his eyes. There was the vodka, her vodka, with a silky ribbon wrapped around its neck like a present, but that wasn't all. Besides it was a letter, a letter addressed to him.

Steve,

If you are reading this right now it probably means one of two things. You're bored and decided to steal some of my liquor, and in that case, you better sleep with one eye open tonight, or I'm dead. I used to hope that I would die in battle, hoped I'd die doing the thing that I was born to do, but while writing this letter I've realized that I hope I'd died saving you. 

Let's face it, I was never one for the whole 'feelings' thing, but with you I gave it a shot, and now I've gone soft. Everything I once dreamed of, I have now, or had. But I've come to realize that maybe soft is just another way of saying happy, and that's not a bad thing, not with you.

I don't believe in God, but the time spent with you was the closest to heaven that I'll ever get. I once told you that that all this time I was awake, and how no one can live without sleep, but every second spent by your side felt like a dream, and for that I'll never be able to tell you how much that meant.

I have a few requests. I need you to make sure that Clint isn't off shooting his arrows until he misses his target, and then shoots something else. I need you to make sure that Tony isn't trying to build some machine that can bring me back, because if he does that, he'll never move on. I need you to make sure that Bruce isn't too angry, and if he is just tell him that you've seen worse. I need you to make sure that Thor isn't off starting a war because there's no way that would end well. Lastly I need you to make sure that you don't drink this whole bottle of vodka; I've tried many times to use it to ease the pain, but it just ignores it, and when it comes back it's 10Xs worse. I need you to move on, and let go, and not go back to the way you were right when you woke up after seventy years; you don't deserve that, not because of me.

I'll never be able to repay you, or give you back everything you gave to me. You made me feel more then some ex. Russian spy with trust issues. I may not be able to repay you for everything, but I can say this; if love is for children, you made me feel like a child again, and for that I'll be forever thankful.

You're a good soldier, but you're an even better man, Steve Rogers, and right now you're probably feeling shittier than ever, and when you wake up screaming in the middle of the night, and when you feel all alone like a lost kid in the dark, remember the man I saw in you, and remember then person you helped me become. 

Life sucks, and it isn't fair, not even to the best of us, but life is real, and it reminds you that you're living, so if you're not going to do anything, but one thing; live for me, live for what we had, and what we always will. Don't think of the things we'll never get to do, but of all the things I did because of you, and one of them was love, and if love were enough I'd still be here.

-Nat

Steve put the letter down on the table, his brain completely blank. All those times he would catch her scribbling away on some sheet of paper, was just her trying to come up with what to say, what to write. He felt guilty for never showing her a finished drawing of herself, for never telling her sooner how he felt, because around her, he felt so many things.

***

It was nearing midnight, and the rain was coming down fast, and Steve didn't know how he ended up at the graveyard, how he ended up standing in front of her grave. In one hand held a rose, and in the other held a drawing, his favorite one of her. The drawing was laminated so that it couldn't get ruined, and the rose was almost as red as her hair. He kneeled down, not worrying about his damp leather jacket, and now muddy jeans. He kneeled down, placed the drawing, then the rose on top, right next to the plaque with her name on it, her real name, but no date.

"I love you Natasha Romanoff," he whispered, no longer sure if his face was wet from the rain, or from the tears that were now running freely down his face. "I love you, and I always will."

**Author's Note:**

> This was stuck in my head for a while so here it is. I wanted to try something new, slightly depressing, but new. 'Winter is Coming' is still in the process, but i'm having some trouble writing it because honestly I have no clue how the movie will go. But just be patient, I promise that i'll get back to it somehow. Thanks for reading, and please review!


End file.
